


Age of Consent

by ofangelsandhunters



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fantasizing, Flashbacks, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Stiles is Legal, Stiles' Birthday, Stiles' mouth appreciation fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1436347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofangelsandhunters/pseuds/ofangelsandhunters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this <a href="http://colethewolf.tumblr.com/post/82102450450/derek-woke-up-today-with-three-special-words-on">tumblr post</a>: </p><p>Derek woke up today with three special words on his lips...</p><p>"Stiles is legal."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Age of Consent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ColetheWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColetheWolf/gifts).



> Hi! This is my first ever Teen Wolf fic that I've managed to finish, so comments are welcomed and appreciated!
> 
> If Derek or Stiles are a little OOC, please, please, please tell me. As I said, first TW fic. (And a gift to someone too, omgomgomgomgomg)
> 
> Un-beta'd, but I'm a freaking grammar Nazi. Point out anything wrong and I'll fix it. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Beams of light from the windows dance across Derek’s closed eyelids before he has the good sense to roll onto his stomach and welcome a few more minutes of sleep before he decides to do something productive about the day.

Judging from how comfortable he is and how he's comfortably settled in the sheets, he figures it’s about eight in the morning. If that was so, then he got a solid seven hours of being unconscious in the most blissful way possible. And he didn't even run into Peter! God only knows where he is at the moment; Derek could really care less. He can worry about Peter later. (Except he always worries about Peter. Nobody still trusts him, and neither does Derek. But Derek figures another hour will pass before he’ll start to think about his uncle coherently.)

Mentally, he gives himself a high five for at least getting some priorities straight. And then he mentally groans at himself.

Because at what point in his life did he go from brooding and glaring at inanimate objects (Stiles' words) to something as mundane as high-fiving himself on a nice morning?

He blames it on the pack (his pack, a pack that he _belongs_ to, Scott had practically declared it when they rescued him and demanded in his Alpha voice that Derek was going to check in from now on), on the band of teenagers who are yet to become adults.

Speaking of a certain teenager who is yet to become an adult…

Stiles is turning eighteen in a few days. He knows that it’s a huge deal for Stiles—Stiles had been making a huge deal about it just last week when it was just the two of them left at the loft, looking at patrol schedules for the Preserve or something.

 _“No, I have not been excessively talking about my eighteenth birthday like it’s a_ huge deal _, shut up Derek, it’s only eight days from now, go slurp your Pad Thai like the heathen you are.”_

In retaliation (and just to humor him), Derek had shoved some chicken and shrimp in his mouth before mixing the noodles around and lifting a bite, tongue darting out to pull the flat noodles in and _sucking it in_ in the most drawn out way while maintaining eye contact with Stiles.

It wasn't the most attractive sound, mostly because the slurping noises Derek was making were a little obscene, but a faint tinge of arousal could be detected in the air when all of the noodles have gone.

And Stiles had sat there, staring wide-eyed with his plush and greased pink lips parted slightly, an uneaten egg roll coated with duck sauce halfway to his mouth. Derek licked his lips to get the oil off of them, and he didn't miss the way Stiles’ slightly dilated eyes watched the movement, nor a smug expression blooming on Derek's face when he heard Stiles’ heart skip a few beats.

After a very quick moment, Stiles cleared his throat and uncomfortably shifted in his seat.

_“Heathen. I’m not taking that back.”_

That’s when Stiles noticed that the duck sauce was running into his fingers, and Derek saw Stiles’ eyes gleam wickedly and glance his way and smirk before the fucker slowly _licked_ the sauce. And Derek may have stopped breathing for a moment, he may have stopped functioning for a moment, he may have just zeroed in on Stiles’ tongue lapping at his long, pale fingers, reaching in-between the gaps to collect the sauce that traveled down the roll.

And then the fucker practically went _around_ the whole roll before his tongue flicked across the top of it, where most of the sauce was, and then he casually _went down it,_ bobbing his head and bit half of it off, which effectively killed the focus Derek had, because if that was his _dick_ —

And then Stiles was grinning at him, eyebrows lifted in a knowing and suggestive manner.

It was now Derek’s turn to clear his throat, and he put out his poker face instead of whatever the hell had been on there and simply said, _“Who’re you calling a heathen when you can’t even eat without making a mess of yourself?”_

Stiles stuck out his tongue, the thing that had been—

Just—

What _even_ —

 _Fuck_.

 _“At least I clean up well,"_  Stiles shrugged, shoving the rest of the egg roll in his mouth, which really shouldn't do anything to Derek’s half-hard business down there, but it did, and he’s forever thankful that Stiles had never asked for the bite. Because seriously? Things would have gone awkward pretty fast, and he really didn't want things to go awry when they’re finally starting to go past the acquaintances area and into a sort of tentative friendship.

But was Stiles’ arousal and tongue-tease for _anything_ at all? (Because Derek’s pretty positive that it was directed _at_ _him_.)

Derek was still half-hard when Stiles left, a lingering look left between them, before he disappeared around the loft door and slid it shut behind him. Derek had made sure that the door was locked before he dashed into the bathroom and ripped down his thankfully loose pants (if he'd worn his jeans, he'd be fucked, and maybe not in the way he wanted) and frantically jerked off at the thought of Stiles’ mouth and sinfully attractive Cupid’s bow lips just closing around the head of his cock and bobbing up and down, wet tongue swirling and sliding just over the slit—

And Derek was coming, hard and fast and messy, right over the sink. He glanced at himself in the mirror, found himself red-faced and shaking all over and feeling good, feeling fucking better than ever, and he hadn't done it in a while, but it still felt fucking blissful. He wanted to do it again, he knew that he could do it again, but maybe have Stiles actually down there and work his mouth for something else.

Derek never fully realized until after the pack got him out of Kate’s place that he felt something for Stiles, something far beyond animosity and hostility. Stiles had helped him out in plenty of bad situations, so it was only fair for his brain to say _hey, I kind of need Stiles to help me sort through this shit at the moment, so he’s gonna help._ And Derek didn't protest, mostly because he views Stiles as a counsel, someone who can figure things out, someone who knows what he’s talking about. He’s the smartest person Derek knows (aside from Lydia), and he’s probably the most annoying and loudmouthed and infuriating and caring and understanding person that Derek’s ever met, and it sounds sappy, but Derek doesn't realize how much he cares right back at Stiles, how much he would lay down to protect this boy, how much he would take all of Stiles’ grief and carry it for him, because Stiles doesn't deserve it, being around broken werewolves who lost their families due to something they know they did, and Stiles deserves to happy all the time, and there’s _nothing_ , in Derek’s mind, that can crush away the way that Stiles laughs with his whole body like he means it, the way he smiles with just the top row of teeth exposed, the way he gives soft smiles to Derek every now and then that makes Derek think that he’s worth something, worth being included in this pack of Scott’s, worth being protected and trusted enough to trust right back.

It’s been a little over a year since he met Scott and Stiles, but the opportunity to belong to something or someone wholeheartedly is something he doesn't want to mess up, ever.

And over the course of a year, he’s fallen hard.

But there were reasons why he hadn't actively sought out Stiles.

First of all, if there was gonna be anything happening between them, Derek was making damn sure that Stiles was eighteen. Derek was gonna abide by the State of California rules. Derek is not up for the shitstorm coming his way if anything like that were to happen (although he’s seen it happen, between so many teenagers and so many adults that he seriously wonders why he should even go with it). Second of all, he wasn't gonna… _woo_ (yes, _woo_ ) Stiles like that, not while he’s still young and impressionable (even though he’s seen shit hit the fan, many, many, many times) and innocent about some things.

Okay, well, the age thing wasn't really a problem at all. It was mostly because of Kate. He doesn't want to become like her, like what she did to him. Even though Derek knows he’s not Kate and that he will never be like her, he just doesn't want to seem like her. He’s lived through enough bad that he doesn't think that it’ll be outweighed by good.

And Derek should really stop over-thinking when he should be enjoying the morning he’s got to himself.

 _“Beautiful Sunday, though,”_ Derek hears a conversation from a little over a mile away.

And Derek’s eyes snap wide open.

He hurriedly throws the covers in his haste to get up, and the memory comes back to him faster than anything he’s ever tried to remember—

 _“Dude. April 8th. Next Sunday. It’s the day that I’m free from being grounded and also the day that I dread that my dad will ground me the night before in order to get back at me for lying about werewolves and the supernatural shit we get caught up in. Which will_ suck _if it’ll ever happen.”_

Derek grins wide, for the first time in a long time, and whispers reverently,

“Stiles is legal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> i have a [tumblr](http://buc-eebarnes.tumblr.com/)


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